The reality is that I get tired of lying to guys.
It’s also entirely possible that it can be blamed on the fact that I have become lazy, lethargic, and (quite frankly) impatient. The whole idea of waiting around for men to come to me—being coy, conniving, a challenge—has flown out the window to be replaced by a grown woman with a teenage boy’s libido.
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Traces of elusiveness remain firmly in place for men I don’t have any interest in pursuing, of course. When I receive a text from Alejandro asking, “What are you wearing right now?” I wince with displeasure and ignore it entirely. When Brian drops me off at my apartment Tuesday night after an evening devoid of pleasure and chock full of his whining, I smile sweetly, offer my thanks, and skedaddle without any attempt at leaning back toward his outstretched, puckered lips.
It’s easy when they are like that.
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The challenge comes when you dance yourself soaking wet, rub your hands up and down his six-pack abs, and kiss him passionately on top of a mound of leopard print pillows. Yes, remaining unavailable to Joel has gotten a bit tricky. Joel and I met online about a week ago. His profile picture shows him lying in bed, sleepy-faced, and clearly naked beneath the sheets. Instantly I want to go there. Honestly, who wouldn’t?